


At the End of the World

by pokerap



Category: Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 02:44:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11614257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokerap/pseuds/pokerap
Summary: She reminds him of the child she used to be; the child she was when she left the castle.





	At the End of the World

It’s dawn when he’s ushered into the war room with the promise of speaking to his sister alone for the first time in nearly a year. The last time they spoke had ended in a screaming match and neither of them had been satisfied. She won’t ever get what she wants from him and she’s already taken everything he worked for. He knew things would be difficult with her, but he never realized exactly how _terrible_ they’d be.

(Sometimes he wonders if she made the right decision. Maybe she shouldn’t have spared him.)

She’s standing at the map in the center of the room, her hands clutching the edges tightly as she stares down at the pieces on the board representing the Crawler and its children. The guard escorting him announces his presence and leaves the room.

“Logan,” She starts. She’s refusing to let him get the first word in, as usual. “Thank you for joining me here so early.”

“It’s not as though I could sleep any.” He says carefully, studying how tight her grip is on the table. Were she a Hero of Strength, she probably would have broken it.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” For once, the queen’s words are stiff and almost petulant. She reminds him of the child she used to be; the child she _was_ when she left the castle. “I don’t want to think about the coming battle right now and I assume you don’t either.”

She’s certainly not _wrong_ , but it’s not the sort of thing he’ll admit. He keeps his hands clasped behind his back, waiting for her to continue.

“Play a game with me.” She gestures with a sweep of her hand over to the chess table. It’s set up near the window, as it was when he owned this room, when the carpet was purple instead of blue.

This certainly wasn’t what he was expecting to hear. “Pardon?”

The queen takes a seat (white) and motions for him to take the other chair (black). Logan raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t complain. He’s always enjoyed chess and when they were little—

“Do you remember teaching me how to play?” She asks as she studies the board carefully. The pieces are expertly carved and weighted, but the board itself looks like it has seen better days. There are scuff marks from where pieces have been moved hundreds if not thousands of times before. He loved this game, after all.

“I do.” She moves a pawn two spaces. He’s not surprised; even after all this time her opening move hasn’t changed a bit. “You were terrible at it.”

Surprisingly, that gets her to laugh. “I could afford to be careless and stupid back then.” She replies quietly. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She looks so much older now.

He moves and she speaks up again, “Mother taught you how to play, didn’t she?”

Logan nods. “She was surprisingly good at it. She beat me at every game we ever played.” She would have known how to handle the Crawler. No, she would have defeated the Crawler on her own if she had ever set foot in Aurora—

“She beat father all the time too, didn’t she?” His sister’s strategy has changed in the years since he last played her. She’s not making the same rookie mistakes now. “She probably kicked Reaver’s ass too.”

He’s not surprised at his sister’s language, but it’s a far cry from the naive girl that left the castle. “I’m sure she did.”

They lapse into silence for another four moves before the queen speaks up again. “I missed you, you know.”

She doesn’t elaborate on that thought and he’s left to guess. Did she miss him while he was confined to the house in Millfields? Did she miss him while she was staging a coup and killing his soldiers, draining the money he’d worked so hard to amass? It isn’t helping to be bitter about all of that and he knows it, but it’s hard to look her in the eyes and feel no resentment.

_He_ should be the one leading the battle against the Crawler.

“When are you talking about, exactly?” He asks it carefully, moving a knight and not looking up at his sister.

Silence. For a moment he’s not sure she’s going to respond. But then: “From the moment I left the castle. Seeing you again in person was the most painful thing I could have ever imagined.”

“During Swift’s execution?”

“Well, yes, _that_ ,” She sounds displeased; he shouldn’t have brought it up, “but I meant when we stormed the castle. You didn’t even fight.” Does she sound disappointed? He’s genuinely not sure. “I wanted to be angry at you. I _wanted_ to hate you, Logan. You wouldn’t even let me have that.”

She still sounds put-out, but this time there’s a hint of amusement in her voice. He doesn’t interrupt and she speaks up again, “You never _could_ make things easy on me, could you?”

“You wouldn’t learn if I was too soft on you.”

She glares at him from across the table, but it doesn’t last long before she sighs and moves another piece. That was careless, and he takes her rook. She only looks a little annoyed. “Logan, you know why I called you in here, don’t you?”

After a moment of consideration, he realizes he doesn’t know. It’s obviously not to play a chess game. It isn’t to talk about the Crawler or the coming attack. He doubts it’s to talk about the past, either. They certainly haven’t made much progress on _that_ in their previous conversations. “Enlighten me,” He says instead.

The Hero Queen sighs loudly and rests one of her elbows on the chessboard. Since it’s her turn, she’s holding his attention captive until she moves one of her pieces. Clever. “I don’t want you to die, Logan.” She says it like it should be obvious, but he can feel himself staring blankly at her anyway.

There’s a very real possibility that he’ll die, he knows that. It’s dangerous to allow him to battle the Crawler. He could be possessed again, he could turn on them, and if they have to would she be able to kill him? But he couldn’t voice that thought to her before because of just how selfish he is. He _needs_ to defeat the Crawler; he needs to end this on his own terms and what control he had as the King of Albion is long since gone. This is the last chance for him to settle it.

If he dies, then at least he’ll die doing what he’s spent the last five years preparing for.

But his sister’s glancing down at the chessboard now, her mouth set in a grim line. She looks like she’s trying not to cry and when she shifts a bit, her bangs obscure her eyes. “Don’t,” Her breath catches, “don’t you dare die on me. I don’t want to bury the last of my family after this is over.”

His hands tighten on his knees and for the first time in years, he realizes just how alone he’s been. “Sister…”

“Promise me.”

It’s cruel of her to ask that of him. Surely she knows that? “Sister, I—”

“I couldn’t kill you before and I can’t let you die now. So… Please. Promise me you’ll be careful.” She’s crying now, he can hear it in her voice.

It’s not something he can promise and she knows that. But...

“I promise.”

He can put his selfishness aside for a moment, at least.


End file.
